The World According to Homestar
by three times over
Summary: A collection of short stories on the man himself. ('Man', in this case, being as loose a descriptor as the term allows.)
1. Running Along

Welcome to _The World According to Homestar_, a collection of short stories with one common link - they're about everyone's favourite athlete, Homestar Runner himself. Often they're written from his point of view, and almost always they are very, very short. Hopefully they can give you a quick break in your day and a smile on the side.

I'm fairly sure the following story is the first fanfic I wrote, or at least the first I consciously considered to be one. Really jumpy and kind of lame, but admittedly one of the better ones of the lot. That probably doesn't bode well for future chapters.  
>Written 20062007, age 11-12.

/-/-

* * *

><p>As he ran, he thought to himself.<p>

About... things. Like the scenery. The scenery was nice, with the bushes and grass and sky and... those clouds looked like bread.

Bread was nice. It was fluffy. Clouds were fluffy. Why hadn't anyone noticed before?

What if they had noticed, but hadn't said so? What if you could see someone's thoughts in a pixellated thought bubble above their head, like in those video games? That would be cool, but sometimes they might think something you didn't need to know, and that would be embarrassing.

... Mario was a fun game. And so was Clapping Party, but that got boring when it was the only game you were allowed to access. Strong Bad hadn't seemed very impressed about that.

Why did Strong Bad want to play all those R18 games, anyway? Those were bad games. Strong Bad was a bad guy. Bad games, bad guy. It made sense, if you thought about it that way.

He'd never liked criminals, but Strong Bad was different. Strong Bad was his friend. But was he a friend, or a criminal? Maybe both, but that would make him friends with a criminal. He didn't like the sound of that.

What if someday he just went up to Strong Bad and said, "hey man, I don't like that you're a criminal, so should we stop being friends?" That would be mean, and he wasn't a mean person. Criminals were mean people, though, and did that cancel out? Did it suddenly make being mean not-mean anymore?

Homestar blinked. At some point during his thoughts he'd stopped running... that wouldn't do, he had places to be. And so he started running again.

The scenery was nice...


	2. Valentine

For the second short tale in this series, I present to you: my brief foray into shipping fiction. I've never been a particularly romantic person, so in the end it looks like I completely mangled the emotional sides of the situation. Fixing it now would take a heavy revamp and somehow I get the feeling it still wouldn't be a complete success.  
>Written approx. 2007, age 13. (Possibly late 12's? Cannot be.)<p>

/-/-

* * *

><p>Homestar opened his locker. He looked into his locker.<p>

Standing out amongst the miscellaneous books and loose leaves was something pink: a pink heart, on a white card. Something that wasn't there the day before.

Could it be? For _him_? Sure, he wasn't top in the class, but even he could see what it meant. Trembling nervously, he opened the card and read the inside...

"To my sweet potato. Happy Valentines."

Well.

... Well.

Well, he wasn't really expecting anything in the first place, was he? Even so, there was that slight feeling of disappointment, one which seemed a tad too selfish for his liking. He was probably only upset 'cause he didn't know the sender, anyway.

With this conclusion, Homestar carefully squeezed the card into his bag before running off to play soccer.

/-

"Psst! Stwong Bad!"

"I don't respond to morons."

"Stwong Bad, what did your Valentine's card say?"

"Huh, what?" Strong Bad glanced at Homestar, who was conspicuously leaning across his desk to whisper. "I... haven't gotten through all of them, 'cause I got so many."

"Then what did your first one say?"

"Uhh. Just the usual. _Happy Valentine's_, of course.''

"Really?" Homestar straightened up quickly. "Mines said that too!"

"Homestar, please don't disrupt the class," said Mr Winner.

"Sorry, sir," said Homestar. Strong Bad was leaning back on his chair again, staring out the window; it was clear that they weren't gonna have another conversation, so instead he slouched on the desk and idly traced a dent in the wood.

Maths was so boring... He didn't even understand 'derision'... That mark looked like bread...

But _Strong Bad got the same Valentine's card as he did!_

Something inside him felt like babbling excitedly, in the sense that _they got the same card_ and _oh my god they got the same card_

but what was so great about that? It was just a stupid card. It didn't even mean anything if the person was just giving them out to everybody...

And just for a moment, Homestar wished it meant something.

/-

Leaves dotted the ground. Leaves were everywhere: they hung lifeless from branches, littering every surface, a neon splash of fire in the surrounding grey.

Homestar sat on the bench, munching a carrot. Carrots were nice and all, but really, he preferred chips. He couldn't say why he wasn't allowed to eat them.

"Hey, Homestar. Did you get a card this year?" The voice was Marzipan's, and she sat down next to Homestar, who was suddenly engulfed by a confusing mixture of enthusiasm and jealousy. He didn't hesitate to let it out.

"... And then I said, stick a fork in it! It's just a stupid card anyway." Homestar ended his tale feeling quite angry, and he slouched against the wall, pouting. From the corner of his vision he could see Marzipan... worried? _Angry_? He could never really tell with girls, but then she shook the hair out of her eyes and smiled and everything was alright.

"You know," Marzipan sung airily, "I heard Mr. Bland didn't get a Valentine's card." At this, Homestar turned to her, shocked.

"What? But Mr. Bwand's the most popular kid at school! He can't have possibly not-gotten one!"

"That's the way it's turned out, apparently," she shrugged. "And I bet Strong Bad didn't get one either."

"... Yes he did. He said so."

"He was lying, Homestar." Marzipan sighed, pulling her legs up onto the bench. "A girl doesn't want a guy who lies: she wants one who she can be sure isn't keeping secrets from her. That's why he didn't get a card this year. Same goes for Pom Pom; he may be really cute, and really sweet..." The girl drifted out at this point, staring into space for a while before Homestar started stomping the ground absently. "... Um, but you know, he's already got four girlfriends, and I wouldn't want to have to share him. In fact, despite all the guys that could've gotten cards, there was only one given out this year."

Marzipan stood up to leave, but not before kissing Homestar lightly on the cheek.

"And that card... was addressed to you. Happy Valentine's."


	3. Poetry

This one doesn't even count as a Fiction but you have to read it anyway /ZOIDBERGS AWAY

Written approx. 2007, age 12-13.

/-/-

* * *

><p>Snow.<p>

White, falling.

... Dark outside. Light... _against..._ black.

Homestar was never very good at poetry.


	4. Cure

One of my favourites, at least in concept; this one starts out quite well but then loses momentum halfway, and it's a downward ride from there. I recall Shwoo pointed out some what was some clunky wording in the 'cutscene'-scene, so my thanks go to her. Ignore the dodginess of a particular moment, I definitely didn't mean it at the time.  
>Written approx. 2007-2008, age 13.<p>

/-/-

* * *

><p>Homestar was standing at The Stick, doing a little dance.<p>

"Hey, um, Homestar... do you think you could go talk to Strong Bad?" Homestar turned to see Strong Sad behind him, looking somewhat more unnerved than usual. "He's been in his room for about a week now... I've been trying to get him to go outside, but he ignores me." This was about the point where an informative cutscene would occur; one with Strong Sad outside his brother's room, getting missile'd by a sock every time he opened the door. It made a pretty cool cutscene, if he said so himself.

"Are you even listening?" said Strong Sad.

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you need," Homestar blurted, cool as a cucumber. Yup, that was him. "Whaddaya need?"

"Go tell Strong Bad to get some fresh air." The elephant-dude frowned worriedly, throwing his thumb back towards the House of Strong. "It's not healthy for him to be rooted in the past... even I don't mourn for this long."

"You got it! I'll have that westleman sniffing air before you know it." And with that, the Runner raced off to the household, mentally preparing himself for a task of elephantine proportions.

/-

What he hadn't prepared himself for was that _stank._ Did Strong Bad like, take showers? Because if he did, boy did he need another one.

"I can hear what you're saying, Homestar, and I _am_ taking showers," a voice called out from behind the door. It was Strong Bad's, probably, but he sounded more subdued... more defensive. Less confident.

"Oh, Stwong Bad! I didn't know you were in there. How 'bout you give us a big smile?"

"_Go away, Homestar._"

"Man, you sure are persistent. I'm coming in!" And so Homestar kicked down the door.

The room was looking pretty dank, even in sunlight: all sorts of rubbish lay everywhere, and the poor TeeBee buzzed with the effort of being the only entertainment for days on end. "Boy, Stwong Bad, you sewiously needa get out the detergent. This place is a housewife's nightmare," Homestar tittered, glancing around the floor. "And look at all these balls o' paper! This one has the Compy in heaven, that's pwetty cool -" He'd barely finished the sentence when Strong Bad tackled him down, snatching the crumpled refill away from him furiously.

"Look, Homestar, I don't know who gave you the idea that I wanted your company - Strong Sad, probably, which makes it even less desirable - but what I need now is space! The last thing I need is _you_, Sir Up-In-My-Face-A-Lot, getting _up_ in my _FACE!_" The last words were practically screamed out at full volume, and Strong Bad suddenly fell back, heaving. "... That actually felt pretty good. Thanks, man."

"No pwob, that's what friends are for," Homestar chirped, showing no signs of being affected by the tirade. "Hey, no matter how good a guy the Compy was, he had to go eventually, and at least he left his legs at sea, wight?"

"... Legacy."

"Yeah, whatever. You can't keep wishing he was still here, though, the Compy'd hate for you to be like this! Now how 'bout you get back into your old woutine, and show us some o' that email spiwit?" Strong Bad looked at Homestar, and he thought he saw the vague beginnings of a sad smile - but then just as fast, it was gone.

"I... I dunno," he replied, frowning. "I'd need a new computer though, wouldn't I? It doesn't feel right replacing him so fast."

"Like I said, the ol' Compy wouldn't mind! Now let's go have a look at what Bub's got on offer." Homestar stood up and left through the door-shaped hole, and Strong Bad would have followed him, but was stopped by a crumpled image at his feet: a winged monitor, hovering above a canopy of pixellated clouds. He stared at it, remembering, thinking...

But then he stepped over, and his footsteps faded away to the outside world.

/-

"It is a time of desolation, chaos, and uncertainty. Brother pitted against brother..."

"I didn't actually think you would be able to get him back to normal," Strong Sad admitted quietly to Homestar from offscreen, careful not to interrupt his brother's long-winded monologue. "I mean... he's started beating me up again, so in retrospect maybe it wasn't such a good idea. But at least he's happy now."

"Yeah, I think he's doing pwetty good too," Homestar smiled. Starting to choke up, he added, "We've bwought him up so well."

"... I'm sorry, Homestar, but that was more than I think I'm comfortable with. I'll be going now."

Strong Bad found it almost amusing, how they thought he couldn't hear what they were saying one metre away. He opened the Lappy with a confident grin, masking the true reason for his smile.

Yeah, he was doing pretty okay.


	5. Snow

This one is mediocre at best, but I might as well put it up for posterity. Set in the past, since I just realised I never established that. I guess I have a headcanon that Homestar's lisp was far worse as a child. It'll come up in another one of my fics.  
>Written approx. 2008, age 13-14.<p>

/-/-

* * *

><p>Homestar was having trouble with his snowman.<p>

"Stwong Bad! Can you halp me with my snowman?"

The Strong Bad in question stopped patting down his snow-fort and turned, squinting. "Do it yourself, Home-stupid," he leered. "I got better things to do."

"Oh, okay." Homestar sat down next to his Blobs Of Snow and waited. It was cold, so he stopped waiting. "Stwong Bad, can you halp me with my snowman?"

"Strong Sad, help Homestar with his snowman."

"I don't want to help Homestar with his snowman," Strong Sad protested from underneath a large bare-branced tree. "Ow! _Ow!_ Okay, I'll help him! Stop pelting me with snowballs," he winced as he stood up slowly, Strong Bad's nasally laughter piercing the air. "What do you need help with...?"

"I've been twying to make it wook wike Coach Z, but it's not wowking," Homestar sighed. "Do you know what's wong?"

"... Well, you have to make the base larger than the head."

"Base?"

"The bottom bit," Strong Sad sighed. "Make the bottom bit larger than the top."

"But then it won't wook wike Coach Z!"

"Make it of somebody else." And with that, Strong Sad went back to his spot underneath the tree.

The Blobs Of Snow sat lopsided, wishing they looked like a snowman. Homestar wished they looked like a snowman too.

... "Stwong Bad, can you halp me with my snowman?"

_Do you want me to help?_ A voice asked from behind Homestar. He turned to see his bestest friend, armed with a shovel and bucket. "Sure!"

And so, Homestar and Pom Pom made their snowman, which in the end was more of a Coach Z Headman, but that was cool anyway.


	6. Aviate

Haha, oh my gosh, this story...! This time I have enough lying around to confidently source the writing period. Not least of this evidence is a blog post I practically wrote as soon as I was done (barring minor touchups, otherwise all my fics would be 'finished' the day I upload them here). _I was so proud._ Then a year later I reread it and cried at how OOC it was, and anticlimatic, and how I had ever thought it was even bearable.  
>My opinion is thankfully more moderate, nowadays. I once lauded it as the best fic I'd ever written. It still ranks among my top works, but I also acknowledge my former hysterical shame at the ending. Truth be told I just don't think I could have wrapped it up in a way that does the whole thing justice.<p>

Written to _Far Away_ by kz: _/watch?v=1Bli2WbkoTs_ on youtube. Warning, it's very weeaboo. It was a huge influence on the whole work though, so I'd implore you to listen if you don't mind it!  
>I don't generally go round using the word 'hardboiled'. That could only be a reference to Problem Sleuth.. because of course, a single word is <em>such<em> an edgy reference. This would've been well before Homestuck became properly famous.

There is also art to go with this, if you're interested! _/art/aviate-136039478_ on happypants3, dA.

Started approx. July 2009; finished April 2010. I would've been maybe three months away from turning 14 when I began.

/-/-

* * *

><p>Free Country was not a particularly exciting terrain, by any means. Sure, you had the Spooky Woods, and maybe that one hill, but there wasn't anywhere <em>really<em> awesome, like lakes or deserts or cities.

Which was why Homestar was going to fly to Potamia.

"What the crap is that ball of junk supposed to be?" Strong Bad snorted, flicking his head towards what could be vaguely called a framework. "I can tell you right now if that's gonna be your new house, the roof goes _above_ the walls."

"No way, Stwong Bad," the amateur engineer laughed in response. He'd donned a pair of goggles and a scarf for the mood, his cap flipped backwards on his head. "It's a plane! See," he started, waving a plank at the respective parts, "this is the cockpit, and these are the wings."

"Are you kidding? You ain't gonna be able to fly that thing, you don't even know how it's supposed to be wired. Eh, forget it, it's probably gonna form the centerpiece of your bathroom or something." The masked wrestler fell silent, watching as Homestar hammered together bits of wood. "And what's that bit over there?"

"The tail."

"If the tail's gonna have a propellor on it, it needs to be able to _spin._" Strong Bad lightly pushed Homestar out of the way, placing himself where Homestar had been before. "It won't do anything if you just glue it on. Pass me the chainsaw, I'll show you how to do it."

Homestar obliged, and for the rest of the morning, Strong Bad fixed various parts of the plane's anatomy while telling him off for ruining more.

/-

"Hey, it's Bubs," Homestar chirped as he lifted his head up. "Hey, Bubs! What've you got on you this time?"

"It's the bulk stock of forest-green paint you ordered," Bubs replied cheerfully, dropping his armful onto the grass next to the plane. The buckets hit the ground with a clang. "Great doing business with you! And Strong Bad, good to see you being helpful for a change."

"Yeah, okay. Pass the spanner," he mumbled in reply, waving his hand from underneath the framework.

"Isn't he just the best?" Homestar gushed to Bubs, who watched the masked wrestler with a wary eye. "With his help, I might be able to go by today!"

"I... I suppose," the storesman frowned. "I just want to know why he's so absorbed in something _you_ of all people are doing."

"I dunno. Maybe he just likes planes."

"Homestar, I brought you lunch," Marzipan sung as she walked in with a tray of vegan rolls. "Wow, this plane's going really well. Would I be able to come along too?"

"Sowwy, Marzi." Homestar shook his head in a hardboiled manner, plucking a roll off the tray. "This plane ain't big enough for the two of us."

"Oh... that's a shame. Well, you gotta tell me about the view when you get back, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." He didn't plan on it. Ruining one of his life experiences by explaining it to Marzipan for ten minutes? No thanks. "Man, how does all the metal fit together? Bubs, my man, give us a hand."

"Sure thing, but it'll cost you extra."

"Finally, it's done! Geez, Homestar, your dodgy building made this take twice as long as it should've," Strong Bad drawled as he pulled out from under the plane; halfway through stretching, he noticed the small roll Homestar was biting into. "Hey, give the working man some food, I've been at this all day."

"Whatever, Strong Bad," Marzipan sighed, roughly setting the tray next to him.

"Marzipan? What are you doing here? Are these rolls vegan?" The wrestler proceeded to survey his surroundings, stopping as all of it appeared to sink in. "... I just helped Homestar with his stupid project, didn't I."

"Don't worry, it counts towards your hours of community service," Bubs said as some sort of reassurance. "You've been needing to fill the quota for over two years anyway."

"How much do you have left to do?" Marzipan asked, looking around at the piles of materials.

"Well, there's the engine, which just needs to be put in fwont of the cockpit here. And then we gotta attach the plates, and the pwopellers, and maybe paint it all..."

"And then you're done?"

"Nah, then we gotta fill it with petwol and apply for insurwance."

"Okay, HomeStore of Fail, I'm only gonna keep going with this coz I already wasted half of today on it," Strong Bad suddenly declared, prodding Homestar in the chest repeatedly. "I got TV to watch, man! So you better appreciate my generous assistance, okay?" He prodded a few more times after he'd spoken. Homestar nodded. "Bubs, help me lift this engine. Marzipan, you can mop the floor or something."

"What do I do then?"

"You... paint the metal, I don't know."

"Hooway!"

/-

"... We're done?"

"We're done," Bubs grinned. It was nearing dusk, at the moment just between blue sky and red; while they'd spent the entire day on the plane, one person at least thought it was totally worth it.

Homestar leapt into the cockpit with a grin, immediately interacting with every control system. "I don't believe it, I'm gonna be able to fly this thing! It's gonna be _so_ awesome! Farewell, my comwades," he called to the group standing around him, as his spluttering contraption rose into the air. "Thank you for your help! I'll be thinking of you!"

"HOW IS THAT PLANE FLYING," said Strong Bad. "THE ENGINE ISN'T EVEN ATTACHED TO ANYTHING."

"Cartoon science...!" came the reply, as Homestar shot off into the clouds.

/-

Food? Check. Water? Check. And adrenaline to fuel the ADVENTURE OF A LIFETIME... _check._

Homestar's altitude quavered dangerously as he clunked across the troposphere, passing clusters of fine mist, the firey sky infinitely unfolding around him. He was glad he'd brought the scarf: it was surprisingly cold up where he was now. He covered his exposed cheeks with the thick cloth, then considered the question of where he was going.

Po... Poland, right? Yeah. Poland was east somewhere. Did he have a compass?

"As a matter of fact, I do!" he proclaimed victoriously, holding up a compass from one of the compartments. Man, good thing he'd had the sense to bring it!

After a few seconds spent waving the sharp end at the nearest visible forest, he considered maybe there was some sort of trick to using it he hadn't learnt yet.

Homestar frowned to himself, chucking the utensil behind him with a clank: he'd been relying on it to get him to Pennsylvania, but clearly that wasn't going to be the case. He didn't even know what the place looked like. Maybe he could fly along until he saw something that looked right.

Then the plane started to buckle, and he knew he'd busted something with that compass.

_Where to go, where to go?_ Homestar felt himself think frantically, the rest of him looking for where to land the increasingly hard-to-control fighter jet. Not that he'd installed any guns, of course, so technically it was just a jet - _oh sweet lady it was spiralling down he needed a clearing._

The only space he could possibly maneuveur into was right at a cliffside, and not a large one at that. It would have to do, he supposed: concentrating all his will into one large egg of hard-boiledness (as well as putting on the goggles for dramatic effect), he proceeded to spin the airplane into position with squinted eyes.

In true cartoon fashion, the plane smashed headfirst into the ground, loud noises and dust clouds obscuring winceable details of the scene.

The smoke cleared. Homestar felt his head spin; swatting away the yellow stars with his dirtied scarf, he glanced down at the wreckage trapping him, trying to figure out the extent of the damage.

... Yeah, he wasn't gonna be able to salvage anything. He sighed, pushing himself up with invisible means. As Homestar stepped out of the pile of wood, a flicker of blinding light flashed past his eye: he blinked once, twice, and turned towards the sunset.

The majesty of what he saw narrowed his eyes into slits, or was that just the UV radiation? Something clicked in the back of Homestar's mind, and he pulled the goggles off his eyes, flipping his cap back the right way. Oh yeah, that was good. Now he could see it properly: the sky, the clouds, an ocean below.

He didn't know how long he stood at the edge of that cliff, watching the sea stretch into the distance.

The loud screeching of some unknown bird snapped Homestar out of his reverie, and he swung around to see a tangled rainforest behind him: it occured to him that he had no idea where he was, which way to go, nor any means of transport to get there. He could wander through that jungle for weeks, in an attempt to reach civilisation, but that plane had covered distances he could not... he was trapped in this, _place._ He'd never see home.

An overwhelming sense of disillusion washed over Homestar, in a way Free Country had never pushed him to feel before. He fell backwards, hitting the soft grass below. Leaves framed the edges of the sky, orange and foreign.

He didn't know what to think, so he stopped. He stared at the clouds as they floated past. And then through the conchord of creatures, he heard a helicopter...

Homestar pushed himself up quickly as a white and orange chopper moved through the sky above him: its blades drowned out all of those foreign sounds, and gusted him with growing waves of realisation. The helicopter lowered itself next to the wreckage, and visible through the window was a familiar face.

"Bubs?"

"You don't think I'd let you go across the continent by yourself, do you?" Bubs grinned, Marzipan and Strong Bad pushing themselves into view as well. "We all knew something'd go wrong, so I picked up the ol' chopper and followed you here! Now what are you waiting for? Hop on board, already!"

Fighting back all sorts of overpowering emotions, Homestar leapt into the helicopter as Strong Bad slid the door open. "Don't get me wrong, I'm just here 'cause helicopters are freakin' awesome," he smirked. Marzipan pulled her boyfriend into a tight hug, and in a rare moment, he didn't object.

The door slid shut as Bubs started up the engine. And the helicopter rose up once again, the noise of its choppers fading as they headed towards home.


	7. Marzipan

An attempt at some sort of like.. ambiguous, double-shipping thing. Hilariously clear which one the fic favours, though. It's shockingly off-character, jumps around with mood... no wonder I abandoned it. Never completely deleted it for some reason though, which is why I find myself hastily wrapping it up now and reducing the quality of the internet yet again. I was all set for exactly 10 chapters on this stupid anthology, too. There is literally nothing redeeming about the existence of this piece.  
>Oh well, I <em>did<em> say my mission statement was to store all my past work even if it shames me, so why the heck not the most shameful of all. At least I feel like this final burst of writing marginally improved the whole thing. I think you can tell exactly where I just worked on it, lmao.

(Hahaha oh god the first line is horrifyingly relevant to my life right now. Literally exactly what I said to a guy recently. Mutual romantic feelings from me were not involved. Not fun.)

Written 2009-2010, age 14-15. And now! That's June 2012.

/-/-

* * *

><p>Homestar was rolling around in the grass when Strong Bad walked up to him, saying, "we need to talk."<p>

"Ooh, the Stwo' Bwo's looking for a chit-chat with _moi?_" Homestar sat up to look at his company, shaking green tufts off his clothing and skin. "This is new! A pleasantly surpwising _happenstance_, if you will."

"If you don't shut up and listen I'll punch a hole in your head," Strong Bad growled, and Homestar shut up. "I don't even know why I came to you instead of... someone else."

The masked man dropped down next to Homestar, glaring at the soft blades of grass beneath them. Homestar wasn't sure whether to say something, since he'd been told not to say anything. Nevertheless, it was clear the conversation wouldn't go anywhere without a little prompting, and he decided to take his chances. "What's up, then?"

"It's your stupid girlfriend," he said. This was not at all what Homestar was expecting.

"... What? What about her?"

"It's great how you don't even bother to correct the 'stupid' part," Strong Bad snorted, looking up. "Just... dump her, okay? For reals, this time."

"I'd never do that!" Homestar cried, staring at him with shock. "She may be a wishy-washy, flippy-floppy ugly bwoom thing, but she's my girl and I'm loyal to her."

"Loyal's probably the opposite of what she is," he responded, irritated. "Look, I doubt what I am saying will register in your thought processes, but she only goes out with you because you're the easiest to lead along. And when she feels like taking a break, she dumps you, then picks you up again a week later. It's... infuriating."

"And why's this even matter to you?" the white creature asked, huffing even if he hadn't quite registered everything in his thought processes. "If you ask me it ain't done anybody any harm."

"That's exactly it!" Strong Bad hissed, falling backwards onto the field. He crossed his arms, eyeing the sky with some sort of unbridled fury. "It's doing you - I mean me - I mean... everybody else... harm, since they are always... wanting to go out with her. I want you to completely dump her so she goes out with someone else, and then one less person is whining to me about their love issues."

"Got a point there, Stwong Bad. The other boys go on about her all the time, don't they?" Homestar frowned, pondering the issue for a moment; suddenly, a thought came to him, and his expression shifted into a sneaky grin. "But... not as much as you are, you know...?"

"What - what are you implying?" For the first time during the whole conversation, Strong Bad looked straight at Homestar, face scrunched up in horror. "She's hideous!"

"Or are you just _saying that?_" Homestar smirked, leaning closer. "Come on, I know you're hiding something..."

"NO. Dear god just _no_. I'm not hiding - anything to do with her." Strong Bad tensed up as Homestar started nudging him, looking away as best as he could. "Seriously, if I - if I knew that was the direction this talk would go in, it would not have happened at all."

"Aww, it's okay, Hot Pants. I _know_ everybody's trying to get with Marzi! It's nothing new," he sung in response. "And hey, I appweciate the headsup, but we're too sweet for each other to let our little, incwedibly fwequent spats get in the way. We will pwevail! _Love will always win!_" Homestar jumped up and yodelled the final line into the distance. It just seemed like the sort of line that needed yodelling.

"... Never call me Hot Pants again," was the first reply. Mumbled, not extremely forceful. So Homestar shrugged.

"Sure thing, Tight Pants."

"T-tight - _I - Homestar!_" Strong Bad suddenly yelped, throwing Homestar offguard. Geez, did he dislike tight pants that much? "I am sick of your romantic _flip-flopping!_ Either _completely_ be with her, or the two of you should _both free yourselves up!_" There seemed to be a moment's pause in time, in which Strong Bad's face shifted from upset to outright horrified. "Wait, no -"

"_A confession!_" Homestar crowed, pirouetting on the spot. "Come on, Sultwy Boy, it was too obvious all along. But that's not how you should deal with your in-fat-u-a-tions, yo." He dropped right next to Strong Bad again, pulling him into the most comforting bear hug he could. "You gotta tell 'em up fwont! Otherwise it curdles in you, and you get sullen, and sad, like you - are - right - _now._" And suddenly, struck by some strange, subconscious thinking, he whispered his last words right in Strong Bad's ear. "You know, I wouldn't mind at all."

Homestar patted the wrestler on the back one last time - the stunned man choked with the force, like a ripple from a shockwave - and with that he jumped up to leave. "Well, ta-ta! Whenever you're ready!" The wind blew against him, spinning the little propeller on his cap, as he sprinted down the hill and left Strong Bad to himself. If he had turned to look, he would have seen his friend simply staring, not moving an inch from the grassy slope.


	8. UST

I'm not joking when I say this is literally jack crap.  
>I remember setting out to write a wholly-dialogue drabble, as a test of my characterisation abilities; it also serves as a spiritual prototype of the previous entry. I'm pretty sure those objectives are as mutually exclusive as I could get. 'Least I thought better of the latter and turned it into a bait-and-switch. Try to guess the characters, but I sincerely expect you to have troubles.<br>Consider it not an actual fic, but more of a 'bonus' (ha, not even); like I said, if it's in my archives, I may as well archive it. Don't worry, you get a double-upload for your pains. Feel free to flick over this as fast as humanely possible and then move on.  
>Written 2007-2008, age 12-13.<p>

/-/-

* * *

><p>"So, uh, why am I here?"<p>

"I need to tell you something, okay? I mean, I shouldn't feel like this at all... but it's been bugging me all night, so I need you to just _listen_."

"Yeah, okay, I'm all ears."

"Um. You know how yesterday, you were like, walking around in that promotional jacket the shady door-to-door salesman was giving out?"

"Uh-huh! He was giving them out like candy from a baby!"

"Yeah, that's not the point. Thing is, I saw you, and like... I mean, it makes you look... different. Uh, like, you know, you're always wearing the same thing, but..."

"Are you questioning my fashion sense?!"

"What? No! I mean yes!"

"And it's not like _you_ wear anything different either! Just the same old shirt, day after day."

"What the - you know what, I'm not gonna beat around the bush no more. Truth is... that jacket looks horrible on you. So I sold it."

"You WHAT?"

"Yeah, and I still managed to make a buck out of it! So thanks for the free money."

"I knew it was you all along! You come back here! _You tell me where that door-to-door salesman went!_"

"Man, I dunno where I was going trying to be _tactful_."

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* * *

><p>The characters are (meant to be) Homestar and Strong Bad, respectively.<p> 


	9. Cloverfield

Here we go, into the good stuff. :D Was a little iffy on the strength of some lines, but a bit of minor editing right before showtime has rendered it pretty much as smooth as it'll get. Enjoy.  
>Written 2009-2010, age 15.<p>

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* * *

><p>"Stwong Bad! Stwong Bad! You gotta feed The Cheat now!"<p>

Strong Bad groaned loudly in reply, shoving his head into the couch as far as it would go.

"Stwong Bad, it is _thwee-o-clock_," Homestar snapped as he entered the room, waving a small watch around. "You have to look after your pets! See, this is why I never wanted you to get one in the first place."

"I never asked your opinion on ANYTHING!" said Strong Bad. "Get out of my house."

"You can blame me all you want, but at some point a The Cheat has to be fed." Homestar threw a thumb towards the stairs, the movement completely invisible save the watch flinging up. "I was up there a minute ago and boy he does not sound happy."

Strong Bad groaned again; a melodramatic, drawn-out affair, he then proceeded to kick himself up and stomp out of the room. Homestar himself was roughhoused out of the way violently.

"Sheesh, someone ain't a noon person," Homestar blinked, deftly regaining balance to follow his friend upstairs. The distinctive voice was audible from the kitchen, blurting out dog commands in a not-quite-soothing manner.

"... Okay, down boy, down. Fetch. Go away, Homestar," Strong Bad finished, glaring at his new audience. "As you maybe-can see, feeding is very difficult business."

The Cheat roared in affirmation, covering his owner in massive gobules of saliva.

"No, no, you're doing it all wrong. Can't you see that he's in his gluten-lactose-polytolewant phase?" Homestar snatched the dripping steak off Strong Bad and flung it aside in one smooth motion. "Wight now you can only feed him fish."

"What?! _Ugh._" Strong Bad massaged his forehead, groaning, as the towering monster softly headbutted him. "_I can't believe I ever thought this would be awesome._"

"And that's why I told you to think before getting a pet."


	10. Warfare

Hahahaha these never get old.  
>Written 2009-2010, age 15.<p>

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* * *

><p>"Our eyes have met! We must battle!"<p>

"Ah, crap," Strong Bad muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tiny sphere. "Look, man, I'm kind of in a hurry, so how 'bout we just say you lost and I take half your money?"

"Nice twy, westleman," the challenger spat, a ball rising to levitate next to him. Wrestleman? What kind of nickname was that? "But you're not gonna weasel your way outta this one! GO, ODDISH!"

The Pokeball flung over and, hitting the ground, released what looked like... a blue turnip. Strong Bad could've fallen over in laughter, it was that pitiful. But no.

"Wipe the floor, Charizard," he drawled, lightly spinning his ball upwards; as it impacted, a red stream shot out and morphed into the familiar shape of a tall dragon, roaring in a show of massive bravado. "Flamethrower that thing."

Charizard smirked, seemingly as unimpressed as its trainer, and let loose a molten geyser at the tiny Pokemon. It was super effective. "What?! Still not dead?"

"Don't think you'll be able to beat me so easily!" Oddish seemed just about unconscious, yet it still pulled itself up for another beating. "Use Absorb!" The Pokemon nodded and scrunched its eyes up in concentration: Charizard growled as white orbs started to emerge from its body, rushing into Oddish as soon as they'd been sucked out. "Now hit it with an Acid!"

"Flamethrower," said Strong Bad, and Charizard used Flamethrower. "There, I beat it. Hand over the muchos now."

"And _where_ exactly do you think you're going? We still have five Pokemon left!"

"... Good god, let me drop dead right now."


	11. Metropolitan

Here we are - the final oneshot, for now! This year I was in the process of writing another piece to finish off the collection, but my computer borked and I lost the file. :( Someday I may add a final 'chapter' with a more conclusive feel to it, but as of current my priority is putting up everything I have left.

This one's a little preachy, and it's a little embarrassing to think it was near the peak of my ability, but in the end I feel like it isn't too bad. Hopefully you've enjoyed reading everything I've had to offer.

A huge thanks to The Black Fool and Zazzles, who were the best first impression to this site anyone could have! And a double thank you to the latter for sticking with me the entire time. :)

Written approx. 2010 - 2011, age 15-16.

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* * *

><p>It was a cool, cloudy day in the town of Free Country. Though the sky was overrun with blotches of light grey, they weren't heavy enough to threaten the landscape with rain; instead, they looked over with benelovence, high above the rows and rows of dull buildings.<p>

At the corner of a quiet street, three males sat at the kerb of a suburban dairy.

"Stwong Bad, did you hear the news?" Homestar suddenly blurted out, starting a topic with little-to-no transition. "This one lady in some country was famous, so they made a star in the gwound for her! She's basically like me!"

"... What? I cannot figure out at all what you're saying," the masked man replied incredulously.

"No, it's like, wight on that newspaper!" came the clarification, and Strong Bad turned in the direction Homestar was looking. There was indeed a rack of newspapers next to the dairy entrance, the front page of which read 'PRESIDENT DECLARES EMERGENCY THE BEST STATE AFTER IOWA'; just visible in a tiny column to the right was another headline, 'Casey Egbert latest on Hollywood's Walk of Fame'.

"Homestar," Strong Sad began slowly, "that's our country."

"Wooaaah, _no way_," Homestar breathed in awe. The words virtually slopped out of his mouth in thick, moronic gobules. Strong Bad just snorted, and went back to staring into the distance.

Distance wasn't so far, though, when all the houses blocked the way. "Man, who the crap even wastes their money on newspapers... they go on about things happening on the other end of the country, or even a _totally different_ country, and who even _cares_."

"It's about globalisation, Strong Bad," his younger brother sighed gloomily. "We're part of a bigger picture, now. We're expected to know these things."

"I still can't believe Hollywood's a part of Fwee Countwy," said Homestar.

"No, we're talking about _the_ country, not -" Strong Bad clutched at his head irritatedly, closing his eyes. "Just... don't even bother. It's politics, you wouldn't understand."

"Stwong Bad I'll have you know I am _extwemely_ good at politics. There's like, teams. And their aim is to wush into the score zone."

"You're still bitter about it, aren't you?" Strong Sad quietly asked his brother, ignoring Homestar's irreverant babble. "I mean... I miss the old Free Country, too. But it's been months since expansion finished, now."

"Hah, no," he scoffed in reply. His eyes told a different story. "I'm pretty sure it's a win-win situation for all of us; your shoddy poetry should be benefiting from actually having something to whine about. _Oh, green grass, where did you go?_" he mocked in falsetto. "_I remember when I used to think you were a bad thing._"

"It's not like that," the boy said, almost a whisper.

"And I get some hella awesome hangouts! Arcades, clubs, bars... the works. People flocked here in droves! Chicks, even! The new Free Country's inconveivably better than the stupid old field we used to live around."

"That doesn't explain why you're sitting here with us," Strong Sad finally snapped, somehow still soft and restrained. The street went silent for a while.

Strong Bad kicked at the road, and kicked again, looking downwards. "Yeah, well..." he muttered, sounding equally tense. "Shut up."

The clouds loomed above the trio below, as colourless as the world around then.


End file.
